


The Moment

by Cumquatmarmalade



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, Post-Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumquatmarmalade/pseuds/Cumquatmarmalade
Summary: Jack and Phryne face their fears and finally act on their feelings. Missing movie scene of smut!
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 106





	The Moment

Her hand settled above his breast. His breathing sharpened. This was it. The moment. The moment that could make or break them. His heart laid bare at her feet. To be trampled or cherished.

  
“Jack, I gave you that a long time ago.” 

  
The pause. The moment. Things he had longed hope for but had never dared to believe flashed about him, dizzying, euphoric. It was too much. He didn’t know how to contain the feelings that surged through him. She had felt the same. 

  
All this time. 

  
She had felt the same.

  
She broke the moment, with her characteristic wit and charm, very little on her mind now but the sweet seduction that lay ahead.  
Their hearts now floating entwined somehow. Hers with his. His with hers.

  
“For a detective, you don’t notice much.”

  
Her smile, filled with promise, with emotion, with expectation. She made no fast move nor did he. There would never be another this.

  
This moment. Their moment at last.

  
They swayed slowly and evenly towards one another, like a magnet’s pull towards true north. Their lips touched, gentle, undemanding, almost chaste.

  
Almost.

  
He led now, capturing her top lip between his own lips, a tiny tremble of her body the only movement in the quiet night. Their mouths opened, As always, their dance was in unison, despite the jumble of their thoughts and the hoped for jumble of their limbs.

  
He brushed her tongue with his, as he captured her lower lip, her soft moan an encouraging sign, to one a little out of practise, but filled with a confidence that this was her. And him. And everything would be alright simply because of that fact.

  
He was emboldened, and moved his hands to her hips, as she gently, slowly raised her hands to his braces and dragged them painstakingly from his shoulders. He gulped almost nervously. Almost. But his need for her overrode everything. Even fear.

  
He pulled his arms free, his hands settling once more on her hips, as his thumbs began to draw lazy circles against the gentle jut of her hipbones, and her hands once again came to rest on his chest. She began to undo the buttons of his shirt, but her fingers fumbled. So unlike her. So very like them.

  
“You know, there wasn’t really a tarantula,” she breathed, unable to keep the truth from him, trying to break the intensity of the moment, loving the moment all at the same time. Loving him. Loving this.

  
He was thankful for the moment of banter. Their regular transmission. What they did best. Their intrinsic understanding of one another. 

  
“Good,” he replied, his voice barely able to find sound, so lost in her was he. “I didn’t really shoot one.”

  
With that it was done. There were no more words. His mouth sought hers, a more urgent press of lips and tongue, his hands firmer on her hips as her arms remembered how to move and wound about his neck pulling him closer until they were pelvis to pelvis and her hands were in his hair. There were things she’d longed to do and tangle her hands in his hair was one of them. Suddenly she could. He was hers. She was his.

  
This was the moment of no return.

  
Jack broke their kiss and began an ardent and dedicated exploration of her throat as she returned to the buttons of his shirt, more confident now, yet still they refused to yield.

  
“Damn,” she whispered impatiently.

  
He covered her hands with his. “I can take it from here,” he said, and made short work of the buttons, shrugging off his shirt to stand before her.

  
He kissed her again, assured and passionate. She returned the kiss, feeling the building need of them both. She wanted him hard and fast, she wanted him slow and gentle. She just wanted him so badly. She moaned into his mouth, melding herself against him to feel his desire pressing urgently at her belly. He walked her towards the bed, kissing her again and again, until she was dizzy and breathless and dragging at his arms to find purchase. 

  
He slowed then, his kisses turning languid and soft and she wound her arms around him again, trying to convey her need, trying to savour each second, to commit it to memory. There would only ever be one first time for them, and it felt momentous somehow.

  
“I want you,” she managed at last, her hands pulling at his undershirt to untuck it from his trousers.

  
“I’m in no doubt of that,” he replied, his kisses returning to her neck as at last, he pushed the pearlescent bed jacket from her shoulders to reveal the thin pale green straps of her satin nightdress. A nightdress no doubt designed for maximum seduction. He halted his kisses and she almost cried out at the loss of his lips on her skin.

  
He hooked a finger under a strap and toyed with it before releasing it and letting his palm stroke down her chest in exploration. She shivered minutely, her nipples hardening instantly against the satin fabric. Jack’s eyes darkened as he stared at her and she felt almost self-conscious at his hungry gaze. Almost.

  
He let his hand rest between her breasts and her breath hitched. 

  
“For God’s sake, Jack. Touch me,” she almost pleaded.

  
He smiled. “I barely know where to start. A starving man, given access to a feast.”

  
She returned his smile and placed a hand over his, moving their joined hands to her breast.

  
She gazed up at him, her eyes as dark as his own. 

  
“Here’s a good place to start,” she all but purred.

  
She removed her hand and waited. Maddening seconds ticked by and then he moved, his thumb brushing the hardened peak of her nipple and she shuddered as pleasure shot through her to her very core.

  
Jack gently pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and she swayed into his touch, feeling desire flood through her.

  
He began to kiss down her throat once more, this time lowering his lips to her erect nipple. He fastened his lips over one nipple and let his tongue swirl and probe, as his fingers continued to toy with the other.

  
Phryne clutched at his hair, keening enthusiastically at his touch. He raised his head to capture her lips once more and she dragged his undershirt over his head, breaking their breathless kisses only briefly to do so.

  
He in turn, pushed one thin strap of her gown from her shoulders, exposing one pink-tipped breast to his gaze.

  
Phryne ran her hands over his bare chest, remembering their recent encounter in the desert. He was well-muscled beneath that three-piece suit. She’d have been less than a red-blooded woman not to have noticed. Now, with a healthy desert tan, his skin almost glowed in the lamplight of her tent. She noted a long scar on his side but filed her questions away. Now was not the moment. This was a different moment entirely.

  
He ran his hand along her collarbone and his lips followed his fingers as they explored her newly exposed skin. He hesitated for a second at the bare skin of her breast, his eyes seeking hers. She nodded her permission almost imperceptibly, but he understood, and lowered his mouth to her chest as he hooked a finger into the other thin strap and let it drop from her shoulders. The gown skimmed her skin as it fell softly to the floor leaving her naked in the dim light of the tent.

  
He stood back and his breathing became uneven and ragged. She was utterly breathtaking. Her skin smooth and pale and perfect.

  
“All I can say is, that painting did not do you justice.”

  
She stood brazenly before him and smiled a slow smile.

  
“That was a long time ago,” she said. “I’m a different person entirely now.”

  
He nodded his understanding.

  
“Now Inspector, you have me at a distinct disadvantage. I am naked as the day, and you are still wearing far too many clothes.”

  
“I think I can assist with that,” he replied and then met her steady gaze. “Unless you’d like to.”

  
It was an invitation. A dare. A plea. She couldn’t resist. 

  
Phryne closed the distance between them and pressed her body to his as his hands fisted into her hair and his mouth dragged along hers. She palmed him through his trousers, and he thrust involuntarily into her hand.

  
“Steady now, Inspector,” she teased.

  
“Believe me,” he said, his voice thick with lust, “it is taking every ounce of self-control I have to steady myself right now.”

  
“Let’s see what can be done about that,” she responded, undoing the front of his trousers and pushing them and his smalls down his legs in one movement.

  
“Damn,” he hissed as his boots prevented the removal of his trousers completely, and Phryne giggled loudly and filthily as she watched him hop about to remove his shoes and then his remaining clothes.

  
He stood before her in only his socks and she giggled again.

  
“That’s not a good start,” Jack said.

  
Phryne stopped her giggling and slowly raked her eyes up and down his body. “I’ve no complaints,” she said. “Apart from the socks.”

  
He immediately set about removing them and soon they both descended into fits of giggles.

  
“This was supposed to be a serious seduction, Miss Fisher,” Jack finally announced as they stood facing one another, naked.

  
“Oh, Jack,” she replied. “I think we know each other well enough by now to know that not everything in life has to be so serious.”

  
“Except what I feel for you,” he finally managed.

Her breathing changed once more, all lightness and levity gone. “I feel the same,” she whispered.

  
“Come to bed, Jack,” she said, moving to her bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in. She gently patted the place beside her. 

  
Jack moved to the bed and climbed in next to her. She blew out her bedside light and he his. There were a few scattered lamps still lit in the tent, making her alabaster skin flicker and appear to ripple with the flames.

  
She moved over him, finding his mouth and kissing him deeply. She stroked his chest and played with his nipples as her tongue glided against his. He grew hard again and she stroked her hand down his chest to take him in hand and stroke him. He groaned loudly and began to thrust into her clever fingers. She stopped and settled into kissing him for long minutes.

  
Eventually, Jack turned them so she was beneath him and raised himself over her on muscular arms.

  
“You ready?” he asked.

  
“About twelve months ago,” she quipped.

  
He chuckled and his fingers stroked her, brushing through the wiry hair at the apex of her thighs, before his thumb unerringly found that part of her that so desperately needed his touch. “I want to see you come undone,” he breathed.

  
His eyes fixed on hers and she seemed unable to look away as he held her gaze and stroked her core in maddeningly slow strokes that soon had her hips bucking to find purchase as his fingers slipped though her slick wetness over and over, relentlessly.

  
“Jaaackkk, pleeaseee,” she moaned.

  
He suddenly pressed two fingers inside her, crooking them just so, and his thumb moved faster against her clit. She shuddered and writhed at his touch, her eyes closing as he continued his movements.

  
“Open your eyes,” he implored.

  
“I – I can’t I..oh dear god. Jack. Don’t’ stop.”

  
He had no intention of stopping. This was the moment. The first of many moments he hoped. The start of something so spectacularly perfect he could barely contemplate it.  
Her eyes flew open and met his as she came. His name was a shrill cry on her lips, as she shuddered and twisted in pleasure. He slowed and stroked and stroked and slowed until her body was lax and utterly replete.

  
They kissed for long minutes, Phryne stroking and touching and kissing his body, keeping him aroused and hungry.

  
“It’s time,” she said at last.

  
“Are you sure?” he said, seeking her consent even now.

  
“I’ve never been surer,” she answered.

  
She pushed him onto his back and rose over him, guiding him to her entrance and sinking onto him inch, by agonising inch. Once he was fully sheathed inside her she stilled.  
His cock twitched involuntarily, and she laughed, her throaty, filthy, beautiful laugh.

  
“Dear God, Phryne. Move.” he begged.

  
She began to undulate her hips over him, feeling every inch of him push and pull inside her. God, but he was perfect in every way, she thought, as she rode him slowly, her hands on his chest, nails scratching lightly over his skin, leaving tiny red lines she would later take pleasure in soothing with her tongue.

  
His hands came to rest on her hips, in an attempt at a control that had long since deserted him. He was hers, to do with as she pleased just as she had allowed him to pleasure her.

  
She was moving in earnest now, and she lowered her mouth to his, her kisses slow and gentle even as her hips were frantically riding him. She threw her head back as her climax overtook her and he was unable to fight his own pleasure any longer. He cried out, hips stuttering against hers as he climaxed within her.

  
They panted and shuddered for long minutes as their skins cooled and their bodies trembled in aftershock. Phryne collapsed beside him, utterly spent, pulling the covers over them both.

  
Jack turned to her, concern for her even now. “You alright?” he asked.

  
She smiled a sated smile. “Utterly sated thank you.”

  
He was unable to restrain his grin of smug satisfaction.

  
“Of course, it will only get better,” she suggested as his face fell.

  
“I’m only teasing, Jack,” she added with a laugh. “It was perfect.”

  
She settled against his chest, her breathing slowing as sleep approached. He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. There were all sorts of liberties he felt he could now take, and he reminded himself they were no longer liberties at all. They were the freedoms that came with a love acknowledged and reciprocated.

  
They’d had their first moment and he would never forget a minute of it. 

  
But it was the moments yet to come that still intrigued and enticed him.


End file.
